Return with me to that sacred first Christmas in Bethlehem to
contemplate the birth of our Lord. He came in the quiet of the night, in
the meridian of time, He who was Immanuel, the Rod of Jesse, the
Dayspring, the Key of David, the very Lord of Might. His birth marked
the promised visitation of the Creator to earth, the condescension of
God to man. As Isaiah wrote of the event:
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light:
they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the
light shined. [Isaiah 9:2]
We know from modern revelation that Jesus was born on April 6,
making it springtime in Judea when the anointed King of Israel came to
earth. As Micah had prophesied, he was born in Bethlehem, “little among
the thousands of Judah” (Micah 5:2). The village of His birth lay in the
shadow of mighty Jerusalem, six miles to the north. Jerusalem was the
capital city of Judea, seat of the temple, and bastion of Roman power.
Bethlehem, by contrast, was a pastoral town, homespun and agrarian in
all its ways. Its only claim to fame was being the birthplace of
David—the ancient king of Israel who established the Davidic line
through whom Christ would be born; hence the little village was commonly
known as the city of David. Its Hebrew name,
bet lehem, meant
“house of bread,” a name that was of no particular significance until He
was born who would be known as the Bread of Life.
The fields surrounding Bethlehem were home to numerous flocks of
sheep, and the month of April was a traditional birthing season for the
ewes of the flock. In their awkward role as midwives to the animals, the
shepherds would have stayed up most of the night, laboring beneath the
crystal sky of the desert plateau. Hence the angels who heralded the
Lord’s birth would have had no need to wake them.
The boy child who arrived that birthing season was known as the
Lamb of God. It is a title of deep significance, for He arrived with the
lambs and would someday be “brought as a lamb to the slaughter” (Isaiah
53:7). Yet, paradoxically, He was also the Good Shepherd, one who cared
for the lambs. Thus, in a curious way, the twin symbols of His life
would represent both those who serve and those who are served. It was
only right that Christ should play both roles, for in life He “descended
below all things,” and in eternity He “ascended up on high” (D&C
88:6). He is in and through and “round about all things” (D&C
88:41). He knew life from every side and every angle, both above and
below. He was the greatest, who made Himself least; the Heavenly
Shepherd who became a lamb.
His coming was more than simply the birth of a great prophet, the
advent of a promised heir to the royal throne, or even the arrival of
the only perfect person who would ever walk the earth. It was all of
that, of course, but it was something far more—the coming of the God of
heaven “to walk upon his footstool and be like man, almost” (“O God, the
Eternal Father,”
Hymns, 1985, no. 175). In the words of a famous carol,
He came down to earth from heaven,
Who is God and Lord of all.
[“Once in Royal David’s City,”
Hymns, 1985, no. 205]
Jesus Christ was the Creator of the world and the Great Jehovah
of the Old Testament. It was His voice that resounded on Mount Sinai;
His power that upheld chosen Israel in its wanderings; His presence
revealed to Enoch, to Moses, and to all the prophets who foretold of His
coming. And therein lies the greatest miracle of the Nativity: when the
God and Creator of heaven and earth first revealed Himself in person to
the world at large, He chose to do so in the form of an infant,
helpless and dependent, born in the same manner as any human being was
ever born.
An ancient Hebrew tradition held that the Messiah would be born
at Passover, and from astronomical calculation we know that April 6 in
the meridian of time indeed fell in the week of the Passover feast, that
sacred Jewish commemoration of Israel’s salvation from the destroying
angel that brought death to the firstborn sons of Egypt. It was a
salvation granted to each Israelite family that sacrificed a lamb and
smeared its blood on the wooden doorposts of their dwelling.
Thirty-three years after His Passover birth, Christ’s blood would be
smeared on the wooden posts of a cross to save His people from the
destroying angels of death and sin.
Since Christ’s birth took place during the Passover week, that
Jewish commemoration may have been the reason why there was no room at
the inn—the population of Jerusalem swelled by tens of thousands during
Passover, forcing travelers to seek accommodations in outlying towns.
Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem, the home of Joseph’s forefathers, to
fulfill the requirements of an imperial census ordered by Caesar
Augustus. The requirement of the census allowed them to make their
appearance in Bethlehem anytime during the year, but they very likely
chose the Passover season since it was also a requirement of the Mosaic
law for all males to present themselves in Jerusalem at Passover. Since
Bethlehem was virtually next door to the Holy City, the couple from
Nazareth could take care of two obligations at once.
The innkeeper has come down in history with somewhat of a
notorious reputation. Yet given the crowding that took place throughout
the region of Jerusalem at Passover, we can hardly blame him for having
no room to offer the couple from Nazareth. While the majority of
Passover pilgrims camped out in thousands of goatskin tents pitched on
the plains around Jerusalem, thousands of others sought refuge in the
local inns, also known as caravansaries or
khans. The inn in
Bethlehem no doubt was overflowing, and the innkeeper’s offering of the
stable was very likely an act of genuine kindness.
Even had the couple found room in the inn, it would have offered
only primitive accommodations: a typical khan of the period was a stone
structure consisting of a series of small rooms, each with only three
walls and open to public view on one side. Crowded and noisy, the rooms
were devoid of furniture, and the khan provided no services. The stable
itself was likely a walled courtyard or even a limestone cave where
animals belonging to the guests were kept. Whether courtyard, cave, or
other refuge, the place of Christ’s birth among the animals did have one
conspicuous advantage over the crowded interior of the inn: here at
least was to be found peace and privacy. In this sense, the offering of
the stable was a blessing, allowing the most sacred birth in human
history to take place in reverent solitude.
Bruce D. Porter "A Child Is Born" BYU Devotional Dec 9 2008
